


Hunting Season

by a_bit_of_foolish_hope



Category: Gotham (TV), Nygmobblepot - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-06 04:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10325882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bit_of_foolish_hope/pseuds/a_bit_of_foolish_hope
Summary: Edward Nygma has everything he thought he wanted, and yet his murder of Oswald Cobblepot haunts him. As Gotham crumbles around him, he discovers that his actions were a fatal disruption to the plans laid by someone far more powerful than he. When rumors begin to surface that Oswald is actually alive, Ed desperately tries to find him. Little does he know, someone is hunting him as well.Alternate timeline that picks up a week after 3x14





	1. Crumble

Edward Nygma sat at the mayor’s desk furiously tapping the eraser of his pencil on an empty legal pad. As standing mayor he was responsible for all of the duties Oswald had handled prior to his “mysterious disappearance". Well, not all of the duties. Just the pointless ones.

 When working as chief of staff Edward had been conscious of the fact that Oswald’s role as the underground kingpin of Gotham took up far more time than his role as mayor. It was not just because of Ed’s ability to pick up details that most wouldn’t realize existed. Ed had also been in personally responsible for organizing Oswald’s schedule on both ends. The trouble was that he had been too distracted by the happenings in his personal life to realize just how disproportionate the responsibilities truly were. As it turned out, the life of the mayor was dull and largely uneventful. Government work was not the strenuous job politicians made it out to be.

Ed had finished the day’s paperwork before noon. He spent a few hours after his lunch break sitting in his office feeling claustrophobic and terribly underutilized. A mind like his shouldn't be trapped in a room and assigned menial tasks. Only one thing had amused him in his week of mayor-hood: a budget increase request for the Gotham police department. The request had been sent in by Nathaniel Barns before he had gone homicidal. As both a police chief and a serial killer, the man lacked any sort of common sense. Without a second thought, Ed had denied the request and filed the paper away.

Edward glanced at the time. He had one more hour in the day and not a single thing to keep himself distracted. Now, as the _tap tap tap_ of his pencil beat exactly double time to the ticking of the desk clock, his mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. It was what he always drifted back to these days. The one thing that he wished he could forget about all together.

The door to his office opened and Ed jumped, graciously jolted away from his thoughts.

“A little jumpy, are we?” asked the woman who had entered, closing the door behind her. “Still shaken up from your little lovers quarrel?” Barbra Kean strode into the room as if it were hers.

“I’m not shaken up about anything,” Ed retorted in a flat tone. “Oswald is dead because I wanted him dead. Also, you’re not allowed in here without an appointment.”

“Oh?” Barbra’s eyes widened in mock innocence and confusion. Her spread fingers hovered in front of her open mouth as she looked side to side, gasping sharply at each turn of her head. Ed’s expression remained indifferent.

“What do you want, Barbra?”

Barbra’s face dropped from her playacting childishness to a smile fitting for a viper.

“I just came to visit my favorite little man in the green suit.”

“I’m wearing grey. I only own one green suit.”

“Yeah, but I like that one. It brings out your bold side.” Barbra brought one leg up and sat on the edge of the desk, leaning in to give Edward’s tie a flirty little tug. Ed readjusted his tie, unflustered, and repeated his question.

“What do you want, Barbra? I’m busy.”

Barbra cocked an eyebrow and looked down at the empty legal pad. “I can see.” There was a loaded pause as each waited for the other to speak. Finally, Barbra dropped her grin and slid off the desk, turning so that she could place both hands flat on its top and look Ed in the eyes.

“You’ve been at this job for…what…six days?”

“Eight.”

“Whatever. I’m sure you’re getting tired of kissing babies and cutting ribbons by now so I wanted to remind you not to get any ideas.”

“And what kind of ideas would I be getting?”

“Don’t be coy, Eddie. You know what I mean. You’re standing in for the mayor, but I don’t want to let that go to your head. You may run Gotham, but I run _Gotham_. Understand?”

“Seeing as how you disposed of all of the crime families last week, I can understand why you would believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barbra asked, a violent spark flashing in her glaring eyes. She tensed and pulled back slightly from Ed, eyeing him as though he had threatened her.

“When you killed the crime families you killed the foundation of Gotham’s underground. You hold the top position for now but you created a power vacuum. People are going to be scrambling to fill vacant roles. You’ll be able to enjoy your reign peacefully for three weeks maybe while the peasants fight among themselves but once the lower layers have been reestablished, the people will come for your seat. I would increase security at your club if I were you.”

Barbra’s manicured hands balled into fists and she held her breath for just a moment, a calm before the storm, choosing which scornful words she should hurl in her defense. It intrigued Ed how emotion driven she was. She’d made it impressively far for someone who acted almost exclusively on arrogance and rage.

“Listen, you over glorified secretary. I was coming here to give you a helpful bit of information but since you’ve brought this terribly important warning to my attention I suppose my focus should lie elsewhere.”

“That would be the most beneficial to you, yes. By the way, you knock on me to say hello but lock me right before you go. What am I?”

“No one is impressed by your stupid games, Ed.”

“The answer is a door. Which you may use. Now.”

Barbra stood up straight, her flustered glare thinly veiling itself behind a self important grin. “Someone’s coming for you, green man, and they’ll find you much faster than your made up mobs will find me.”

“There’s no way the police would suspect me in Oswald’s murder. I made sure of it.” His dismissive tone was emphasized as he turned his attention away from her and began tapping the pencil eraser again.

“Oh, you’ll wish it was the police,” Barbra scoffed. When she received no reply, she added, “just remember. I run Gotham. If you want to stay safe, you’d better keep yourself on my good side. Take care, Eddy.”

With those words, she left, allowing the heavy office door to swing and bang shut behind her. Ed’s eyes darted to the clock. Four fifteen. Forty five minutes until he could leave without unwanted notice. His pencil stopped, and he looked down at the blue lines on the empty pad before. Quickly, he flipped the pencil around and pressed graphite to the paper. He began to scribble, his hand just barely keeping up with his mind. If there was a power vacuum in Gotham, he needed to stay two steps ahead of everyone else. As they came to him, he scribed the names of those like to vie for the throne.

_Jerome followers_

_Falcone family_

_New red hood_

_Fish Mooney_

 

 

Ed continued to go over names in his mind during the car ride home. With Oswald’s disappearance still fresh and Ed carefully avoiding suspicion, Ed still had the privilege of living in the Cobblepot mansion as he had before everything had turned sour. The Russian maid kept a careful eye on him whenever they were in the same room, but in large the stay was comfortable. In fact, it felt especially pleasant now that he had the whole place to himself. Didn’t it? Of course it did. He had everything he wanted. Solitude. Freedom. Power, limited thought it may be. And he could bask in satisfaction of his plan to murder Oswald having been successfully carried out. Yes, everything was better this way. Satisfied with this conclusion, Ed turned his thoughts back to the impending war. Trying to figure out who would end up on top was quite the puzzle indeed. Most of the biggest threats were either dead or behind bars. Indian Hill was gone. Red Hood copycats seemed to be in no short supply but their success would depend on whoever stepped up to lead this time around. Falcone? Probably not. He was by far the most respected and the most capable. He already had Gotham in his pocket, but he had seemed intent on staying in retirement. However, with the recent death of his son and the current state of the city…

Mooney was next in line as far as cunning and experience went. She didn’t carry nearly as much influence as Falcone but she had five times his determination. After all, Falcone had never come back from the dead.

Come back from the dead…that’s right! Her most recent reanimation had left her sick. Ed had deduced that Oswald hadn’t killed Mooney despite his assertion otherwise, but if she hadn't found a cure to her condition she was probably long dead by now.

Corrupted police could try. Bullock maybe? Gordon? No, those two had tunnel vision. They put out the fires but they could never control the source of the flame. That left Jerome. The boy was surprisingly intelligent. Combine that with the sheer number of those who followed him…he might just stand a chance. Barbara, Tabitha, and the gorilla wouldn’t even be able to go into hiding if Jerome’s group set their sights on them. It was an amusing thought.

Then, of course, there was the Court of Owls, the secret society that had run Gotham since it’s founding. Ed knew very little about them, but they didn’t seem to be the types to step forth from the shadows. Then again, with things as they were…

Ed frowned and let out a sigh. None of these options seemed ideal, but that was generally the way Gotham worked.

As Ed continued to calculate probable moves, his eyes drifted lazily out the window and came to rest on a figure standing on the sidewalk.

“Stop the car!”

Following Ed’s abrupt command, the driver slammed his foot down on the break pedal, causing the black vehicle to jerk to a halt. Ed stared out the window in confused horror. Standing on the sidewalk in the middle of a city block was Oswald Cobblepot. His lanky figure was dripping wet and bent forward slightly, both hands gripping the side of his abdomen covering an unseen wound. He met and held Ed’s stare but his eyes and face showed no emotion. Glancing down for a fraction of a second to simultaneously unlatch his belt and open the door, Ed jumped out of the idling car. When he looked back at where Oz had been, he found that the man was gone. The line of cars building up behind Ed’s ride began to honk, but Ed ignored them. He looked up and down the street. There were no alleys or doorways that Oz could have darted into so quickly. The place where water had previously been pooling beneath Oswald was bone dry. No trace of the man remained.

Shakily, Ed got into his car, oblivious to the ever-growing shouts and honks directed his way. “My apologies. Back to the mansion.” Ed was relieved when the driver asked no questions. For the rest of the ride home Ed stared forward, his eyes not leaving the back of the seat in front of him.

Back at the mansion, Ed tried to steady himself by placing his hands on either side of the bathroom sink. The cool feeling of porcelain beneath his palms was grounding. He focused on his breaths. In…2…3…4…5…6…out…2…3…4…5…6…

“That wasn’t real,” Ed told himself out loud. “I am real. This bathroom is real. This mirror is real.”

With his words, Ed looked tentatively up into the mirror. He half expected to see Oswald standing behind him but he was met with nothing but his own reflection. A sigh of relief escaped Ed’s lips. He was used to hallucinations by now. Pulling himself back together afterward became easier each time. Besides, the sight of Oswald hadn’t really shaken him up. Not truly. It wasn’t like with Kristin. Seeing Oz was…it was a reminder victory. He had destroyed Oswald exactly according to plan. There was nothing more to it. Oz’s body was cold and blue and frozen in the wintery cold river and that was where it would stay. Ed could go on with his life now. Everything was as it should be. Everything.

Ed took a few more deep breaths, straightened up, and made his way to the dining room where a hot meal and quiet emptiness awaited him. He began to eat, the clinking of his silverware awkwardly audible in the silence. He took a few bites before shaking his head and standing. The quite was too overbearing for him to handle. Normally solitude was something Ed longed for but today he felt restless. Perhaps it was his week of nonstop nothingness at work. Leaving the full plate and untouched glass of wine abandoned on the table, Edward grabbed his coat and walked out of the mansion. He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just needed to go.

Where could he get to on foot? There weren’t many destinations nearby other than restaurants and clubs which he had no desire to visit. One club especially.

_Someone’s coming for you, green man, and they’ll find you much faster than your made up mobs will find me._

Barbra’s sad attempt at a threat appeared at the forefront of his mind.

_You’d better keep yourself on my good side._

Maybe visiting Barbara’s club was a good idea after all. He didn’t put any weight on the warning she had given him, nor did he believe that an alliance with her would benefit him greatly in the days to come. However, Sirens was the current meeting place of what remained of Gotham’s elite. There might be important information to be gleaned from a drink or two at the establishment.

Pink tones of sunset in the sky struggled to break through the ever present smog that settled in Gotham city as Ed made a sharp right toward the direction of the Sirens nightclub. His footsteps were drowned out by the last dredges of rush hour traffic. So were the footsteps coming up from behind him.

A sharp pinprick of pain stung the side of Edward’s neck. His hand shot up to the spot, his fingers meeting the smooth plastic of a syringe. Before Ed could look around and see his attacker, everything went dark.


	2. Recruitment

Edward’s eyes fluttered open. He felt no connection to his body as he dizzily tried to make sense of his surroundings. His vision was blurry but he could feel something hard and cold under his right arm. Metal? His head lulled heavily to the side and he looked down at an arm that didn’t feel like his. It was resting on a the side of a steel chair. Just resting there, not tied. Odd. Slowly, Ed began to fall back into himself and he assessed his situation more deeply. The room was brightly lit. Florescent lights gleamed harshly on tables and instruments that matched his chair’s surgical steel. His neck was sore from being drooped over onto his shoulder for too long which told him he had been out for at least an hour or two. Sensing a small amount of pressure on his left arm, Ed turned to see a pair of fingers holding a cotton ball against the crook of his elbow.

The sight of another person snapped Edward back into reality. Once recognition set it, his heart began to pound. Eyeing Ed with caution, one hand on the cotton ball and the other holding a medical syringe, was Doctor Hugo Strange. Ed yanked his arm out from under Doctor Strange’s fingers and snatched the wrist of the hand holding the syringe. Ed’s grip was not as tight as normal thanks to the drugs, but Strange opened both his hands in a move of complaint innocence. Ed noticed as the syringe fell from Strange’s hand to the cement floor below that it was empty.

“What did you drug me with?” Ed demanded, tightening his hold on Strange’s wrist as much as his still woozy body would let him.

“Narcan,” the Doctor said. “To reverse the effects of the etorphine.”

Ed’s grip was slowly becoming stronger.

“Why am I not tied up?” he asked.

“To show you we come in peace,” said a smooth, sultry voice. From across the room, Fish Mooney stepped into Ed’s field of view. Ed had never met her in person but there wasn’t a man or woman in Gotham who didn’t know of the infamous Fish Mooney. She didn’t look like Edward had imagined her, though. She looked haggard. It was obvious that she had attempted to give her appearance the same flair it had in her days of power, but the dye in her hair was faded and her dual colored eyes looked exhausted.

Ed tensed, ready for a trap. “You attack me on the street with a fatal sedative, haul me into some kind of lab, and expect me to believe you want to play nice?”

“The etorphine was diluted. You won’t experience any long term side effects,” offered Strange as if this address all of Ed’s concerns. Mooney took a few steps closer.

“We are willing to negotiate peacefully,” she said. “We just had to make sure you were as well. That’s why we brought you here. We couldn’t have you whispering about the location of our hideout to your little friends.”

“You’re insinuating that if I refuse you’ll let me just leave?”

“We may not dilute your next dose as much, but we’ll happily deliver you to your front door.” Mooney did not smirk as she spoke, but held a cold stare on the confused Ed. “Now if you would be so kind as to let go of my partner’s wrist, we can discuss terms.”

Ed paused, glancing back and forth between the Doctor and Fish. Finally he released his grip. Strange picked up the empty syringe, placed it on a standing metal tray and went to stand beside Fish Mooney. Ed stood as well, his height giving him a small feeling of advantage as he stared down his kidnappers.

“What exactly is it that you are wanting to discuss? Considering the lengths you went to bring me here I assume it must be some significant kind of trouble.”

“Oh, we’re not the ones in trouble,” Mooney replied. “We made an agreement with some very powerful people, and that agreement involved you. You messed it up. You get to fix it.” She flipped a coin in the air toward Ed who caught it easily. He examined it wearily. It appeared old. On one side he could make out what appeared to be a crude depiction of an owl.

“Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.” Mooney recited the poem as if she were chanting a curse. “Strange tells me you’re familiar with this organization. I shouldn’t need to explain the gravity of the situation, then.”

“I know they exist. I learned as much on Indian Hill. What do they want with me? What did they want with you?” Ed turned the imprinted coin over and over in his hand as if it would provide him some kind of answer.

“As you know,” Strange began, “I was employed by the Court when I was—” Edward cut him off.

“Experimenting illegally on inmates and creating monsters? Yes, I’m aware.”

Strange raised his eyebrows and lowered his head for a moment, his hands wringing together. After recomposing himself, he continued.

“They employed me to find the secret to bringing the dead back to life. Which,” he gestured toward Mooney, “I did. Indian Hill may be gone, but my knowledge and subject ended up being valuable enough that they allowed me to continue my research under certain conditions.”

“Subject meaning Miss Mooney, I assume?” Ed asked. He still idly played with the coin in his right hand. What did this have to do with him? He listened intently, trying to piece together the bigger picture that his captors didn’t seem to want to reveal.

“Don’t be so crass, Edward,” Mooney chided. “His subject was far more simple than the masterpiece that is me. You see, just because we’re in hiding doesn’t mean I stopped sending little birds out into the world to gather information for me. When Oswald became mayor, of course I needed to keep tabs on him. I couldn’t send someone directly to him, though. He’d suss me out in no time. My target needed to be stupid. That’s where you came in.”

Ed’s eyes narrowed at the insult and his fist clamped tightly around the coin. “You might want to rethink your recruitment methods,” he replied through gritted teeth. “It’s not favorable to behave so rudely to potential partners. Besides, the Penguin has gone missing. It’s a shame you’re stuck in this cement pit or perhaps you would have gotten the memo. Now that you’re done wasting my time, if you could direct me toward the exit?”

Ed turned slightly but was abruptly cut off by Fish who stepped directly in front of him. Even in her heels she was shorter than him by a handful of inches but she didn’t seem notice. Rather, she leaned in toward him menacingly, her face inches away from his chest, and glared up at him with such malice that she more than compensated for her lack of height. Ed bristled and looked down at the woman, refusing to cower.

“Apparently we chose perfectly,” Mooney said in a cold, mocking tone. Her head twisted slightly as she leaned up even closer to Edward’s face. “We’re not looking for you to sign on. You were recruited weeks ago.”

“What do you mean?” Ed asked, his imposing stance diminishing slightly. Mooney grinned and stepped backward, no longer needing proximity to feel in charge. She had gotten the reaction she wanted.

“Did you really think that someone so perfect for you would just appear out of the blue at a wine store?”

Ed faltered. Any emotional distance he attempted to maintain vanished as Isabella’s bright, smiling face flashed in his mind. “What do you mean?” he repeated, this time more insistent.

“I’ve been in this game for a long time,” Moony explained. “I’ve learned some very clever tricks and created even cleverer ones. With the help of my new comrade,” she gave a quick nod toward Strange, “I was able to step my game up to a whole new level. Didn’t your little girlfriend seem a bit too familiar?”

“What are you talking about?” Ed stammered. His mind put together pieces in disbelief. “Miss Kringle…Kristen…I killed her. Chopped her into pieces.”

“Recovering the body from decay wasn’t easy,” Strange said with an acknowledging shrug, “and the scars were very difficult to conceal"

“That’s not possible. She was dead for too long.”

“With the proper funding, anything is possible,” said Mooney, once again stealing the expository spotlight. “Once a certain someone caught wind of our plan to plant a spy near Cobblepot, we had everything we needed.”

“But why give the job to you? If they’re as powerful as you say they should have spies of their own.”

“Creativity has its perks,” Mooney replied. “It makes everyone’s job a little bit easier and a lot more fun.”

“It gave the Court an easily manipulated set of eyes in the government,” said Strange, “and it allowed them a chance to see the full extent of what I could achieve.”

“The fool, the lovers, and the emperor penguin. All of our cards were on the table,” continued Mooney. “Except the fool was more of an idiot than we thought.” With that last sentence, she lashed forward and shoved Ed into the metal chair. He toppled back easily. His head felt light and his whole world was spinning. This time it had nothing to do with the drugs. None of this was right. Isabella was Kristin? Even if that were true, she had loved him. Hadn’t she? Had she known that she was a part of this plan? Or was she an oblivious victim? He couldn’t figure out which would be worse.

“We don’t live under a rock, whatever you may think,” Mooney hissed, jabbing her finger into Ed’s chest. “I send my birds out and my birds come back to me. We know you tried to kill Oswald. We need to know where he is.”

“Wait,” Ed blinked, his thoughts of Isabella’s betrayal vanishing momentarily. “Tried? I shot him on the docks. His body fell into the river. I saw him die.”

“Then get new glasses String Bean, because that body you saw in the river was spotted walking the streets two days after your little assassination attempt.”

“You must have wrong information. I saw—”

“I don’t give two shits what you saw!” Mooney shouted, pulling Ed by the collar so gruffly that their foreheads nearly cracked together. This was not a part of her power game. A facade had broken. This was an act of desperation. “Dead or alive, you will find that good-for-nothing umbrella boy and bring him to us, do you understand?”

Too many thoughts flooded Ed’s mind at once. He stared at Fish, her jaw clenched, teeth bare like a rabid animal, her face so close to his that heavy breaths caused a thin layer of condensation to build on the lenses of his glasses. For an infinite moment they stayed that way, both too lost to their own version of chaos to break the tension. Finally, a calm hand came to rest on Mooney’s shoulder. Ed felt her grip loosen and watched her posture relax under Strange’s touch. She returned to her previous, controlled self and allowed Strange to step between them.

“Mr. Nygma, I think we can all see the benefit of working together. Whether you succeeded in killing Mr. Cobblepot is not the issue. We simply need the body so that we can return him to the mayors chair. If you can do this for us then everybody wins. I maintain my funding, Miss Mooney regains access to her medication, you maintain a position of power and respect.”

“Medication?” A light clicked on in Ed’s mind. “That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? I’m not a part of his at all. You can’t find Oswald and you need my help or else,” a childish grin spread across his face, “you die.”

Mooney made to lunge toward Edward again but Strange blocked her path. “That is one way to see the situation, certainly. However, you must keep in mind that we were able to track you and bring you here without allowing you to become aware of our presence. What do you imagine we would be able to do if we decided to become your enemies?”

“Nothing for very long,” Edward giggled. Knowing her condition, Fish’s weariness was now all the more apparent. The sulk in her shoulders. The heavy bend in her knees. Even standing was a chore. “On another note, aren’t you supposed to have super powers? Be able to control minds? Why not just use that?”

“We have been unable to study the full potential of Miss Mooney’s gift as of yet. The duration of her influence is yet unknown. It would be easier if you stood along side us willingly. Be reasonable, Mr. Nygma. We are being upfront and more than patient. We only ask that you work with us for a short period time. Surely that isn’t an unreasonable request. I’m certain that the Court would be quite pleased with your work, as well.” Doctor Strange raised an eyebrow enticingly and cast his glance down at Ed’s hand where the forgotten coin remained clenched in his fist. Ed lifted the coin to get a better look, the light in the room gleaming on the owl’s carved eyes. They seemed to stare at him, through him. Was Strange bluffing? Would such a small act matter to the Court of Owls? He barely knew of their existence but Strange seemed to be very close to their inner circles. That would make it very easy to lie. Then again, what did he have to lose?

“Very well.” Ed said finally, pocketing the silver disk. “I’ll do my best to find Oswald’s body. But how do I contact you if I do?”

“You won’t have a hard time finding us,” Doctor Strange smiled charmingly. Mooney’s face remained sour. “We are so pleased to have you as a part of our team Mr. Nygma.” Strange extended one arm, motioning to a door across the room. Ed stepped forward and Strange followed close behind. In a respectful gesture, he opened the door for Ed. Revealed was a small room and an elevator. “I can’t follow you up,” said Strange, still holding the door politely. “When you find what we need, simply come back down this elevator and slide the coin under this door.”

A bit confused but set to his path, Ed stepped through the door and Strange shut it gently behind him. Just before it closed completely, Ed saw Fish slump heavily against a table and was filled with a small bit of satisfaction at seeing her in such a weakened state. Even in death, Oswald was powerful enough to make her crumble. Ed smiled in admiration before realizing who he was admiring. He shook his head as if physically attempting to force any thought of that limping traitor out of his mind.

The elevator ride up took much longer than he had expected. There were only two buttons on the inside: up and down. When he finally reached what he assumed to be the only upper level, the doors opened to an alleyway. Cautiously, he stepped out into the open air and looked around. Behind him the elevator doors closed leaving no sign of an entrance aside from a small, disk shaped indent barely visible in the concrete wall. Ed eyed the cryptic keyhole for a moment before allowing his gaze to drift upward. His mouth fell open. He was standing at the base of Wayne Enterprises.


	3. Regret

Edward walked swiftly away from Wayne Enterprises. He wanted to put enough distance between himself and the building that his driver wouldn't be able to connect his pickup with that location. As he walked along the dry pavement he assessed his situation. He had agreed to find Oswald, but how? He couldn't go digging around at the bottom of the river. And if what Fish had said was true, if Oswald was still alive, that would make the search even harder. He might not even be in Gotham for all Ed knew. He would need to use all of his resources on this one.

A sliver of moon forced its feeble light onto the city. The clouds had cleared up but but the streets were dark. It hasn't occurred to Ed how hungry he was until he noticed how late it actually was. His eyes scanned the mostly empty sidewalks illuminated by lonely streetlights. His work at The Siren's would have to wait until tomorrow. He needed food and a good night's rest. Surely the Court could be patient for one night.

Gears clicked and turned in Ed's mind as his thoughts returned to the most efficient way to locate a maybe-dead Oswald. He couldn't go searching for a body without drawing attention to himself so maybe he should entertain the idea that he had survived. But if he had survived, why wouldn't he have gone to a hospital? The police? His return would have been immediately noticed and celebrated. He wasn't a popular public figure--Ed had seen to that--but he was still the mayor. What confused Ed the most, though, was why the Court cared about any of this. They didn't just care, they were involved. Invested. To the point where they had set him up and turned him into a pawn. They'd used Kristin. They'd used him. They'd used Oswald. He wasn't used to being outsmarted and he wasn't about to let this sort of treatment go unpunished. Ed's steps quickened and he shoved his hands in to his pockets, clenching his fist around the silver coin. They wanted Penguin? They would get Penguin. Penguin and Ed and their combined wrath. Then maybe they'd think twice before toying with the kings of Gotham.

Wait.

No.

Oswald wasn't the king of Gotham. He wasn't anything. He was a traitor and a failed leader of both the city and the underworld. They weren't a team at all. They were enemies. Ed stoped and ran his fingers over the coin still hidden safely in his pocket as he tried to realign his thoughts. It frustrated him how easily his brain slipped back into old patterns of thought the past few days. This had never happened to him before. He just needed to find Oswald, deliver him to Fish and Strange and be done with this whole ordeal. That would get him back on track.

Ed took his hands out of his pockets and brushed the front of his jacket as if to punctuate his final thought.

"One silver piece?" a voice asked from the darkness. "Even Judas needed more than that."

A shiver ran down Ed's spine and his body locked in place as he listened to expensive shoes approaching from behind with an uneven gait.

"I suppose I'm no Jesus, though. I'm far better dressed. We do seem to have the same affinity toward purple, however."

Inhaling sharply, Ed spun around but the street behind him was empty.

"You're not faster than me anymore, Ed."

Oswald's voice came from behind him again, startling him and causing him to jump around. This time he was greeted by Oz's freckled face a foot away from his own.

"You're not real," Ed said in a breath. His heart was racing.

"Aren't I?" asked Oz, opening his suit jacket and lifting his shirt to reveal a sick, black scar on his abdomen. "Reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing. That's what Jesus said, wasn't it? Sorry, I'm just trying play the role properly."

Ed had no words. He opened his mouth but nothing but half choked syllables escaped his lips. Finally he managed to speak, "Mister Penguin..."

"Don't you 'Mister Penguin' me!" Oswald barked. "Don't even speak my name. You betrayed me!" His whole body was tensed in anger and the stress caused his stitched bullet wound to reopen. A small trickle of blood began to drip down his side. Ed opened his mouth again to bring attention to the damage but Oswald yanked his shirt back down before he could.

"I loved you. I loved you more than anyone ever could." Oswald's face was still contorted in anger but his eyes were blurry with tears. "I loved you and you betrayed me. How could you?"  
Ed was shaking. He felt like the foolish, quiet forensic scientist of his past again. At loss for words. Unable to communicate. No idea how to portray they overwhelming emotions he felt. He needed to find sanity. His mind refused to believe what he was seeing. Was this really Oswald?

"No," Ed said, both to himself and the shorter man before him. "You're not real. I shot you."

Oswald reached out and yanked Ed's wrist, forcing Ed's hand into his side. Ed felt his thumb press into Oswald's wound causing blood to ooze out onto Oz's shirt and Ed's hand. Oswald didn't flinch.

"Trust me," Oswald said, his piercing gaze drilling through any facade of strength Ed had managed to display. "I know. I said I would die for you. I just didn't expect you be the one doing the killing."

The blood on Oswald's shirt turned black.

"You said you'd do anything for me. You said I could always count on you. You said you were my friend!"

A single drop of water appeared from beneath Oswald's bangs and ran down his nose. Another followed. And then another.

"You will make this right."

Oswald's skin began to grow pale. A glaze grew over his eyes. Ed felt Oz's grip on his arm become slimy and cold.

"You will make this right or you will never know happiness again!"

Then, as quickly as he had appeared, Oswald vanished. Ed stood on the sidewalk with his shivering hand extended into empty air. His stomach clenched painfully and his throat felt tight. Ed had been right; I t hadn't been real. He was safe. He was alone. And yet sight of Oswald's tear filled eyes and the feeling of his blood against his hand hung in his memory as vividly as if it had actually happened. For eight days he had been telling himself he had done the right thing by killing Oswald.

He was wrong.

A hole drilled its way into Ed's chest. It was an ache he had only felt once before as he had held the body of the woman he had loved and murdered with his own hand. Before Indian Hill. Before the dark side of himself had taken control. Before he had sworn never to let his heart control his mind again. This was an emptiness that was pure and dark and all encompassing.

Those bastards. Those fucking bastards! This was their fault. Oswald would have been alive if it weren't for them. He and Ed would have still been together. They would have been happy. Edward pulled the coin out of his pocket and threw it as hard as he could into the street.

Then, with a panicked jolt of realization, he dashed into the street toward where he heard the coin land. That was his only key to getting Oswald back. Until he was completely sure that Oswald was alive he couldn't afford to let that coin out of his sight. He found the little disk sparking in the center of a streetlight's glow. He pocketed it and pulled out his phone. He wasn't as far from Wayne Enterprises as he had wanted to be but he didn't care. He needed to get out of this street. He needed to go home. He needed to find Oswald Cobblepot.

 

  
From the rooftop above the spot where Ed paced impatiently waiting for his car, a masked figure glowered down at him. A quiet beep came from his side and he pulled a walkie talkie off of his belt without breaking eye contact with his target.  
"Is he going to comply?" a woman's voice asked through a staticky connection.  
"I'm not sure," the masked figure replied. He still held the knife he had drawn when he had seen Edward throw the coin, but his grip on it had now lessened. "He seems to have had an episode. If he is as unstable as he seems he might not be as reliable as we'd hoped. I'm going to keep an eye on him."  
"That won't be necessary," the woman replied. "Return to your primary roost. I'll send you periodically to check up on Nygma but our attention is more essential elsewhere."  
"Understood. Talon out." The masked figure lingered on the rooftop a bit longer until a black limo pulled up to the curb. Once Edward Nygma was inside, the figure watched the car turn the corner and vanish. He knew he had orders. However, something didn't seem right about leaving such a wild card unattended. Nygma's home wasn't that far away from where he had been assigned. Maybe he would take a detour just to assure himself that everything was rolling smoothly. Without a sound, the masked man leapt from rooftop to rooftop, following the red tail lights of the black limousine.

 

  
The mansion seemed haunted as Ed stepped inside. Rather than feeling like a beautiful piece of stollen treasure it felt like a prison. Before tonight Ed hadn't noticed or hadn't cared, but as he made his way to his bedroom he realized that Oswald was on every inch of this home. The couch where they had shared tea. The office where they had organized meetings and press conferences. The dining room where Oswald had waited alone with an important, heartfelt message while Ed had spent the night with the zombie of his former lover.  
I'm in love with you.  
A painful twist in his stomach quickly rid him of his apatite and he rushed past the rest of the mansion without looking at any features of the rooms. Once he reached his bedroom he hastily changed into his night clothes and climbed into bed without turning on the light. The soft mattress and thick covers offered no sanctuary, however. The bed felt cold. Empty. In the back of his mind Ed wondered what it would have been like to share this bed with Oswald. The love of a man was something he never anticipated receiving or even fathomed reciprocating.  
But now he wondered. Oswald had always been a sort of hero to him. Smart. Powerful. Determined.  
Sweet.  
Caring.  
The hole in Edward's chest grew unbearably large and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself as if trying to keep himself from physically crumbling. How had he let things get so out of control? How had he gone so wrong? Edward stared for a long time at the empty half of his bed. After what felt like an eternity, he fell into a restless sleep. Outside the window, a masked man vanished from his hiding spot in a nearby tree.


	4. Reverse

Morning came and went without mind. Despite it being Saturday, Ed had meant to wake early but the events of the previous evening had left him so exhausted that when he finally rolled out of bed it was quarter past two in the afternoon. The sun spit daylight onto Ed’s face and he blinked into waking, his eyes protesting painfully to the brightness of the room. The curtains were open. That was odd. He must have forgotten to close them the night before. Shakily, he pulled himself out of bed and slid the curtains shut before changing into the days clothes. Even though he was certain no one would be able to see him, Ed refused to undress in a room that wasn’t completely private. The vulnerability of nudity was never something he had quite grown comfortable with.

Now it was time to get to work. He had already wasted too much of the day already. Penguin was missing and the Owls were looking for him. Ed noted that he seemed to be a magnet for troublesome birds.

Dawning a brown suit and a patterned tie, Edward downed a large meal with fantastic speed and left the mansion, this time by car. Walking alone for long distances somehow didn’t feel as appealing as it had the night before. When the driver pulled to a stop in front of the Gotham Police Department, Ed instructed him to wait and walked up the stone steps into the old, familiar building.

This was not Ed’s first return to the precinct since his termination, but when he walked through the wooden doors into the dimly lit central office he felt unease. This was the place where his true self was born. He had hidden Kristin Kringle's body here and gotten away with it. He had set up detective James Gordon and successfully brought on the innocent man's incarceration. Now with his governmental influence he had the whole department under his thumb, and yet somehow he sensed a trap waiting to be sprung. It was as if he could feel watching eyes burning into his skin. Not eyes of suspecting officers. There would naturally be at least a few but Ed had no fear of them. He was certain that even the most committed detective would’t be able to find evidence to connect him to the missing mayor. If he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have come here in the first place. There were other eyes, though. Ones he could not see. Hiding somewhere in the shadows, glowing dimly, never looking away. Ed tried to logical shoo away the idea that anyone was watching him, but those silver eyes on the coin in his pocket felt like a homing beacon. His memory flashed back to his open curtains. Were they following him? It unnerved him how little he knew about this organization and how much they might know about him. Internally, he shook. Externally, he straightened his posture and walked across the room toward the desk of Jim Gordon. Speaking of committed detectives...

The previous plans of subtle, covert investigation into Oswald’s location had been tossed out the window. Everything seemed much more urgent now. As incompetent as they could be, the GCPD was the most likely to have reliable, up to date information regarding this situation. As for Gordon, he had almost certainly requested to be put in charge of Oswald's case. Publicly, he displayed a disdain for anyone associated with Gotham's underworld, but Ed could clearly see an unrelenting, hidden admiration Jim had developed toward Oswald specifically. Not that Ed could blame him. That just meant that he was unlikely to trust anyone else with finding Oz and returning him to safety.

Gordon was staring down at an open file on his desk, his hand halfway raked through is hair and his mouth slightly agape in exasperation. Ed approached the desk and rapped twice on the wood with his knuckles.

“Knock knock,” he sang cheerily. Gordon looked up and sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair. He appeared at his limit for stressful situations for the day.

“Afternoon, Mr. Mayor. What brings you in today,” Jim said in flat sarcasm as he closed the file on his desk.

The words tumbled from Ed's mouth as if he had been waiting to say them all day.

“I can never be stolen from you. I am owned by everyone. Some have more, some have less. What am I?”

“A stupid riddle.”

“Knowledge. I’m here for knowledge. Specifically in regards to Mr. Cobblepot.”

“That’s a open investigation, Ed,” Jim sighed. “You know I can’t tell you anything.”

“Mr. Gordon, Oswald is my colleague and my friend. I, more than anyone, am desperate for his safe return. I simply want to know if there are any leads.” The conversation was an act of course, but the statement wasn't exactly a lie.

“Yeah,” Jim said, his eyes narrowing, “I’m sure you’re terribly concerned. Having all of Penguin’s money and power to yourself must be really hard for you.”

“I’m insulted that you would believe—“

“Cut the crap, Ed. I have a lot of work to do. There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. You want updates? Read the paper.”

Ed’s jaw tightened as Jim flipped open the file he had been examining before. A forced, annoyed grin spread across his face as he attempted to keep his composure. He was a man of power now. He would not be dismissed by some petty detective. Before he could push the issue further, however, a boisterous voice echoed from behind him.

“Well if it isn’t the man of the hour!”

Harvey Bullock, Jim’s former partner and current acting police captain, came trotting toward the two men waving a manilla folder above his head. Despite his temporary promotion, Bullock has apparently seen no need to update his appearance from the usual dirty jacket, messy beard and long, unkempt hair. “We were just about to call you in for questioning but it looks like you’re two steps ahead as usual, Ed.”

“For questioning?” Ed replied, genuinely confused.

“Yeah,” Bullock quipped. “You a fan of Stephen King?”

Ed was taken aback by the randomness of Harvey’s question.

“Not particularly,” he answered. “I’ve always found his writing to be dully predictable.”

“Yeah, well you’re not that hard to figure out yourself,” Harvey replied, slapping the contents of the folder on the desk between Jim and Ed. “I gotta say, though, you’re sneaky clue skills are slipping a bit.”

Ed looked down at the full page printouts of photos taken by the docks. In sloppy, red-brown letters, the word REDRUM was spelled out on the concrete. Ed picked up one of the photos to examine it closer.

“We found this a few days ago. Analysis just came back. The blood was confirmed to be Penguin’s.”

“What makes you think I would do something like this?” Ed asked. Despite his steady voice, his heart was pounding wildly. It would have taken a lot of blood to make those letters.

“Uh, maybe because you're the number one criminal in Gotham who likes to play stupid games with the cops?"

“Where did you find this?” Ed demanded, ignoring Harvey as he spoke.

“About a mile downstream from the pier,” Harvey said slowly, raising an eyebrow. The tone in Ed’s voice was angry, almost frantic. If he didn't know better, he would have thought Ed's concern was actually genuine.

Without another word, Ed turned on his heal and walked out of the department. Shouts from Harvey about “that photo is police property” and “we know you’re mixed up in this” followed him to the exit and were silenced with the heavy bang of the front door. This was a message from Oswald. There was no doubt in Ed’s mind. This was meant for him. He just needed to figure out what the message was.

On a hunch, Ed went directly back to the mansion and walked into Oswald’s personal library. There among a few other of the authors works was a hardcover copy of Stephen King’s The Shining. A part of him was slightly repulsed that someone he admired so dearly would read this sort of grovel until he remembered that the mansion had previously belonged to Oswald’s departed father, Elijah Van Dahl. Oz was a spectacularly sentimental man. Perhaps the book was a favorite Mr. Van Dahl. Ed could only hope.

Redrum. The first interpretation that came into Ed’s mind was simply “reverse the murder”. Oswald was never good at riddles so the answer to this one had to be fairly simple. “Reverse the murder” was too vague, though, and if Oswald was alive when he wrote this there wouldn’t have been a murder to reverse in the first place. Ed opened the book to the copyright page. First edition, naturally, printed 1977. Could the date have something to do with it? An address, maybe? No, that was too minute. He would have to think broader. Larger details. Bigger picture. There must be something major here that Oswald had been referencing.

Taking a seat at the desk, Ed began flipping through the pages of the novel. Gotham had no Overlook Hotel. Torrance was not a name that rang familiar with him, either by family or location. He could think of a few hotels in which rich men would meet and dress each other as dogs but he preferred to believe that Oswald was not holed up in one of those waiting to be found. However...

Fish had treated Oswald like a dog more than once during his days working as her umbrella boy. If Ed remembered correctly, on one occasion she had even forced him to drop to all fours and kiss her feet. The thought made Ed’s hands tighten into fists around the book, causing one of the pages to tear. It had all taken place at Fish's club, Oswald's club since Fish had been ousted by Falcone from the mob. That must be it. What had become of that place, he wondered. It had been so long since Oswald had time for something as meaningless as a nightclub. Still, it was worth checking into. Ed grabbed his briefcase, tucked the book inside, and was off once more.

When he arrived at the club he wasn’t at all surprised to see it boarded up and empty. The illuminated letter’s that had at one point spelled “Oswald’s” were shattered and the only sign that remained of the club’s signature neon umbrella was an uneven sun bleaching on the wall. Someone must have taken the actual light as a souvenir. That or it was trashed with the rest of the place.

Ed worked his way around back until he reached the rear entrance. Here, like at the front, the door was boarded shut. Upon closer inspection, however, he saw that the nails holding the wood in place were just barely doing so. Pinching one between his fingers, Ed slowly slid one from its resting place as easily as if he were removing it from butter. These boards had been removed and reapplied a number of times. His heart began to flutter. Could this really be the moment? Was Oswald behind this door waiting, praying that Ed had found his clue? Had deciphered it? It was in this moment that Edward realized he had no idea what he was going to say when he opened the door. The hallucination of Oswald was direct and demanding, but that was not going to be the case now. Oswald was hurt both emotionally and physically and Edward had been the one who hurt him. Even if Oz had somehow forgiven him, what was Ed supposed to do? Was he to rush in and apologize or let Oswald speak first? Should he reveal how much of a hole losing Oz had left in his life or was it too early to confess such emotions without seeming insincere? Ed could solve puzzles, manipulate numbers, and plot great and terrible schemes. Logically, he was always four chess moves ahead of his opponent. But Oswald was no longer an opponent, and the heart was never as straight forward as the mind.

All of these thoughts tumbled around in Ed’s brain as his increasingly sweaty hands pulled the nails from their beds one by one and laid them next the the boards as removed them from the door. Finally, there was nothing left to stall his reunion. Taking a deep breath, Ed took the doorknob in his hand and turned.


	5. Rot

The door opened surprisingly quietly. The hinges must not have yet begun to rust. There were no windows on the walls and Ed had not thought to bring along a flashlight. Using one of the boards he had removed from the rear entrance, he propped open the door as far as he could to let in as much sun as possible. Dust particles danced in the stream of light that fell into the room and Ed allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness before stepping inside.

The empty club was eerily quiet and his footsteps echoed loudly off the walls with each step he took. Overturned tables and chairs lay scattered along the floor and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. There were some empty liquor bottles still sitting on the shelves behind the bar but anything that might have still contained alcohol had been removed. By the broken glass that crunched under the soles of Ed’s brown Oxford’s he supposed that a good majority of it had been drunken and discarded before the looters even left the premises. As he set his briefcase on the bar he tried to picture what the place would have looked like in it’s hay day. A grand destination with pleasantly dim lighting, fine food, and live music playing on the now-empty stage. He would loved to have seen it.

A muffled cough caught Ed’s ear and he stopped in his tracks, listening hard into the darkness.

“Oswald?” he asked in a loud whisper. There was no reply. Ed listened harder and heard rustling behind the stage curtains. “Oswald!” Ed cried louder before dashing forward, dodging chairs, tables, and lamps as he went. Using one hand to hoist himself up, he clambered to the stage surface and yanked back the curtains.

“Os—!”

A man looked up at Ed with wide, terrified eyes. In his arms he held a young girl, her head buried in his chest and her hand’s hiding her face. She was shaking.

“P-please,” the man stuttered, “please, don’t kick us out. My daughter, she’s sick and—”

“Where’s Oswald?” Ed demanded in a low voice.

“Who?”

“Oswald Cobblepot. Where is he? He should be here?”

“The mayor?” asked the man, holding his daughter closer. “He’s not here. No one is. Just us.”

“How long have you been hiding here?”

“A month. Maybe longer. Please don’t kick us out. The shelters are full and if my daughter stays out there in the cold…”

“You’ve been here a month? Has anyone else been here? Has anyone ever passed through?”

“No. We haven’t seen anyone but you since we arrived. The place was already looted when we got here. Please don’t…”

“I’m not going to kick you out,” Ed said through gritted teeth. “So there has been absolutely no one?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ed stepped quickly past the man and his daughter to the small area backstage. “Oswald!” he shouted into the emptiness. When no reply came he began to open doors, knock over racks of old wardrobe pieces, and toss aside already toppled pieces of furniture. The man and the girl watched trepidatiously as Ed covered every inch of the club, becoming more and more frantic with each area he checked. He had deciphered Oswald’s message. He had solved the riddle. He was here. Why was Oswald still hiding? He looked behind every door, under every booth, knocked along the walls to find some kind of hidden crawlspace. He found nothing.

Eventually Ed circled back to the bar of empty bottles. The mirror behind the liquor display reflected a man covered in sweat and dust, wisps of hair falling in front of his face. Then, his reflection became blocked by himself. A much tidier, much more confident Edward leaned on the bar from the server’s side and grinned.

“Not as smart as you thought you were, huh?”

The real Ed snatched up a stool, gripping it so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“Shut up!” he cried, hurling the stool through the air and sending it crashing into the glass display. Glimmering shards rained down to the floor as Ed stood panting and furious. The girl let out a whimper. Ed’s eyes snapped up and for a moment he contemplated threatening to call the authorities on her and her father’s presence. Breathing heavily, he stared at the frightened pair for a long, loaded moment before snatching his briefcase up and storming out the back exit, kicking away the wooden doorstopper and letting the metal door swing shut with a loud _clang!_

Once in the privacy of the alley, Ed took deep breaths. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. Obviously he missed some key detail. He would just have to try again.

Opening his briefcase, Ed removed the novel and began flipping through its pages, speed reading, searching for anything he might have overlooked.

“It really is sad,” said the hallucination of himself to his right.

“Truly sad,” replied the hallucination of Oswald to his left.

“Watch him search.”

“So desperate.”

“He’ll never figure it out.”

Ed kept reading, doing his best to block out the voices he knew only he could hear.

“Maybe there’s nothing to figure out at all,” laughed Oswald. “Maybe my dying act was to try and tell the police it was you. Maybe I’m out there rotting and oozing and cold. Maybe I died alone and afraid and hating you.”

“If you were trying to reveal me as your killer you would have written my name,” the real Ed replied, “not a line from a book.” _They’re not real,_ he had to remind himself. _Stay focused. Ignore them._

“Perhaps he was trying to tell you your future,” said a woman’s voice. The mirage of Kristen now stood before him completing the trifecta. Ed brought the book closer to his face.

“'The Shining'. The story of a man who brags about his intellect,” said the fake Ed.

“So proud but so fragile,” chimed Kristen.

“Until one day he snaps,” Oswald added, “becoming a murderer and slowly…”

“Drifting…”

“Into…”

“Madness!” They all sang the last word together with glee. Ed pulled the book so close to his face he could barely decipher the words. _Block them out. Solve the riddle. They’re not real_.

“I never wanted you to find me.” Oswald appeared directly in front of Edward pushed the book down, forcing Ed to look into his eyes. “I just wanted to let you know how hopeless you were and I wanted to make sure you heard it from me.”

Ed couldn’t take it anymore. He shot up and flung the book through Oswald’s grinning face. The image of him vanished like smoke. Grabbing the briefcase he swung it through Kristen who disappeared as well. “Leave me alone!” he screamed, making a final swing toward that cruel, laughing artificial projection of himself. Instead of being whisked away like the others, the fake Ed simply stepped back and dogged the blow.

“You lost your chance,” he chided. Another swing.

“He’s gone and it’s you’re fault.” Another dodge.

“You won’t find him. It’s too late.” Ed swung the briefcase one last time, this time letting go of the handle and sending it careening through the hallucination’s head. Fake Ed vanished and the briefcase hit the ground with a crack, breaking the latch and sending papers flying everywhere. Ed scrambled to his feet and gathered them as fast as he could, tossing them haphazardly back into the briefcase. The latch was broken beyond repair and the corner had impacted with the ground in just the right way to make the hinges on the bottom bend slightly, making it impossible to shut the case properly. Holding it closed under one arm, Ed wearily made his way to where he had flung the book. It lay open near an overflowing, blue dumpster. Ed contemplated leaving it or tearing it to bits but it was too valuable. Just like the coin, this book was simultaneously a burning reminder of his mistake and one of the only items tying him to the possibility of uniting with Oswald once more.

Resigned, Ed squatted and reached for the book. Before he picked it up however, he froze, hands millimeters from the tattered pages. Ed reread the line that had caught his eye and then picked up the book. He raised it carefully, afraid that if he moved to fast the words would vanish all together.

“ _Now it stood revealed, an incongruous splash of green in all the eye-watering whiteness.”_

Green. The color Ed had worn on that regretful night. The color of the clues he left at his crime scenes.

The color of a riddler.

Ed read on. The passage told of a boy in a cold yard surrounded by green he thought to be safe. Lion shaped topiaries. Harmless plants. And then the lions start to close in. The boy tries to tell himself it’s not real until it’s too late.

_“Bellowing, angry roar.”_

_“Smell of blood and evergreen.”_

It was such a small connection, and yet the passage was so powerful. The fear tangible. How must Oswald had felt when he realized the one person he thought the safest was the one who sought to destroy him. How must he have felt when he was attacked by the green?

Ed’s stomach twisted painfully, the hole reappearing in his chest. With great difficulty, he tried to imagine what Oswald would have meant by sending this message. The boy had been playing in the garden…

Could it possibly be Giordano Botanical Gardens? There were no animal shaped bushes but the place was famous for it’s selection of plants from around the world. Behind it was the railway, a known location for homeless and runaways. It would be the perfect place to blend in and go unnoticed. Ed didn’t have enough faith in himself to be confident of his conclusion but any lead was better than none. Using the sleeve of his suit, he wiped away the buildup of grime on his face and ran his fingers through his hair to straighten all the runaway wisps. He had no mirror to inspect himself with, but when he felt thoroughly tidied he walked out of the alleyway and hailed a cab.

 

 

 

 

Ed trod slowly through the park. Dusk was beginning to fall and not too far ahead of him he could see trash fires being lit to give those sleeping on the street some tiny source of warmth. He ignored the judging and curious stares he received from the ragged huddles of people as he walked through the shanty town, his eyes dancing around the tracks looking for a familiar face hiding in the shadows. He walked until the street folk were long behind him and alleys began to appear to his left. He peered only half expectantly down each one until he came to the spot directly behind the Botanical Garden’s property line. Eyes straining in the darkness, Ed saw him. Crumpled on the ground in the back corner, back propped up against the wall, was a figure with dark, matted hair and and a black suit. Ed’s heart stopped. Was this a trick again? Would the figure jump up and and laugh once he approached? Would he just vanish?

One step at a time, Ed moved slowly, cautiously, his body tense and ready to run at any second. It wasn’t until he was feet away that he believed that this was no hallucination. He was looking down at the sleeping form of Oswald Cobblepot.

Ed hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until he exclaimed “Oswald!” and all of it left him at once. Casting his broken suitcase aside he dropped to his knees and took the man’s face in his hands.

It was cold.

Too cold.

Slowly, Ed pulled back. No. No! This was another trick. His cruel mind only wanted him to believe Oswald’s skin was like ice. If he could trick his eyes and his ears, why not his other senses?

Ed reached out and and examined the sleeping Oswald. He ran his hand over the man’s eyelids. They didn’t open. He touched his arm and found it to be stiff and unmoving as well. There were splotches of red on his hands and face. His lips were blue.

Ed began to shake. There was another explanation. If Oswald had been hiding here too long he could just be unresponsive from the cold. A glance at his abdomen showed bright red skin peeling back around the bullet hole Ed had put there. Infection. It was just the infection.

Gingerly, Ed unbuttoned Oswald’s shirt to examine him further. Pockets of puss filled the open wound. He placed his hand beneath it and leaned in for a closer look when…

“Ed….”

The sound was barely a whisper. Edward gasped and looked up. The lift of fear from his shoulders happened so suddenly that he felt lightheaded.

“Oswald! I’m here. It’s ok.”

But the body was unresponsive. Ed looked back down on the hand on Oswald’s abdomen. Oswald hadn’t said anything. Ed had simply pushed out gas build up from inside the body causing a post-mortem moan. There was no denying it anymore. Oswald was gone.

But there was still redness around the gunshot wound. That meant Oswald had been only been dead for hours. Ed fell backward, his pelvic bone cracking hard against the concrete. Quickly, he whipped himself around on all fours and retched. Hours!! If Ed hadn’t slept in, if he had solved the puzzle the first time, if he had been more clever, Oswald would still be alive. He would have been able to save him. Now, his own blindness had killed his truest friend twice.

But why had Oswald stayed hidden? If he’d been alive for nine days he could have gone to a doctor, even a back alley doctor and gotten healed. He could have gone to the police as soon as he climbed out of the river. Why hadn’t he?

Ed didn’t need to ask these questions. He already knew the answer. If he had gone for help he would have put Ed at risk of being found out. Instead, he had counted on Ed to find him before it was too late. After everything, Oswald was still willing to sacrifice himself and put all of his trust in his hands. 

_“Ed, I love you. I know that you believe that now.”_

Ed retched again, the vomit splattering off of the cement onto the sleeves of his suit. Then, he wept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: I actually love Stephen King. The Shining is one of my favorites and I know that the plot is a lot deeper than a man going crazy in a hotel. The simplicity is only Ed's understanding from a quick skim of the novel. Please don't eat me alive ^^


	6. Reanimation

_Shhhhhink_.

The sound of metal against concrete echoed slightly in the expanse that was Doctor Strange’s lab below the basement of Wayne Enterprises. Casually, he strolled over to the room’s only exit, the door that led to the elevator, and stooped to pick up a coin that had been pushed into the room from underneath it. The door was code locked from the other side. When Moony and Strange had recruited Nygma to their cause, Strange had thought it best not to reveal the code to Edward lest he prove to be disloyal. Now, the sliding of the coin at least demonstrated Ed’s commitment in a time of mutual benefit.

Strange opened the door to reveal a  disheveled Edward Nygma, his suit filthy and his long arms cradling the corpse of Oswald Cobblepot. Strange stepped aside calmly as Nygma rushed in, looking for a place to lay the body.

“You can set him there,” Strange said in a low, authoritative voice. He gestured to a hospital gurney. Ed followed direction and released Oswald’s body delicately, making tidying adjustments to the dead man’s suit once he had been laid out. Ed was trying to comb his fingers through the matted mess that was Oswald’s hair when Strange finally interrupted.

“I’m impressed. We weren’t expecting to see you back so soon.”

“I had help,” Edward said, his eyes not leaving the body. Strange’s eyebrow raised when he saw that Ed had wrapped his fingers around it’s hand.

“All the better for us,” said Strange and slowly began to pull the gurney away from Ed. Ed kept hold of Oswald’s hand and Strange stoped.

“You’re going to bring him back,” Ed said. It was not a question.

“That is part of the plan, yes.”

“How? This room has nothing. It looks like a standard medical examination room.”

“It is,” Strange replied. “This isn’t the room where I’m going to work.” He glanced down at Ed’s hand again and Ed finally let go. Strange then wheeled the gurney to a thermostat on the far wall and flipped it up to reveal a finger print scanner and a keypad. He typed in a code and placed his thumb on the scanner. The wall next to him which had appeared solid moved to reveal a large doorway that opened slowly into a conjoining room. Ed followed Strange inside and looked around. Everywhere there were machines and computers that Ed couldn’t hope to recognize, let alone decipher their purpose. Strange wheeled the gurney next to an operating table and looked at Ed expectantly.

“Are you going to help me move him?”

“Ye…Yes. Of course.” Ed took Oswald’s stiffened legs in his hands and hoisted him to the table a few inches away. It had taken Ed a while to bring the body back to Strange after his initial discovery of its location. Once he had recomposed himself, he had to call his car only to take the driver home and come back himself to retrieve Oswald himself. Since Os would be alive again soon, Ed no longer had to worry about having witnesses tie him to suspicious locations. However, he still knew better than to allow anyone see him transporting a body. In too much of a hurry to clean or change, Ed immediately took the keys from his driver upon their arrival at the mansion and made his way back to the alley behind the Botanical Gardens.

Usually a body would go in a trunk, but that seemed insulting and unfitting for his friend after all he’d suffered. Ed had lifted Oswald’s body and laid him carefully along the back seat of the car, buckling him in at both ends. The freckled man was short and fit perfectly on the seat without Ed having to bend his knees too much. The time it had taken Ed to go home and return had allowed the rigor mortis to set in deeper and all of Oswald’s joints were becoming stiff. His suit was soiled and he smelled of human waste. Ed would worry about cleaning that out of the car later. Even if he had to replace the car, he had the funds. Right now, Oswald was his number one priority.

Now, Ed watched nervously as Strange began to undress Oswald. Ed understood it needed to be done but it felt indecent. Hadn’t Oswald been through enough? Could he not keep his dignity here? It pained Edward even more that Strange was using a knife to cut through the fine fabric of Oswald’s suit. It was one of Oswald’s favorite. Now it was being slashed into nothing but scraps of dirty fabric.

“Are you going to be doing this alone?” Ed asked, his gaze still intently fixed on Strange’s work.

“Of course not,” Strange replied. “Like I said, we simply didn’t expect you back so soon. My assistants should be here shortly.”

Strange continued to remove articles of clothing one by one, making the view more horrendous and heart wrenching by the second. Ed had never realized Oswald was so tiny. So frail. His impulse was to go to him, take his hand again, but he stayed rooted in his spot. Half of the reason was because he knew better than to interrupt. The other half was due to the immobilizing guilt that ripped at him from the inside.

“Where’s Miss Money?” he asked, trying to stay present.

“She’s resting in her room.” Ed must have looked surprised because Strange paused, stooped over the corpse, and looked up at him. “You didn’t think we lived in that cold, concrete room, did you?”

“Of course not,” Ed shot back. To be honest, he hadn’t really given it much thought. Compared to everything else, a detail like that seemed meaningless.

Strange began the arduous task of cleaning the body. For this, Edward offered to help. He felt it to be an obligation. However, Strange instructed him to stay where he was. Then, four individuals in medical coverings appeared from yet another hidden door. How many layers did the complex go before doors just became doors? Their aid sped up the cleaning process considerably. Finally, Oswald’s head was propped up on a block and Strange placed a scalpel tip against the center of Oswald’s collar bone.

“What are you doing?” Ed barked, stepping forward. The four masked assistants quickly moved between Ed and Strange, looking far more intimidating than they had before.

“You were a medical examiner,” Strange reminded Ed, holding the scalpel in place but not yet cutting into the exposed flesh. “You know this is part of the job.”

“This isn’t an autopsy,” Ed said, flustered. His palms were sweating. “This is the opposite of an autopsy. You’re brining him back to life. Remove the bullet and do your job. We know how he died.”

Strange sighed and set the small blade on a stainless steel tray next to the rest of his tools. “Would you like our mayor to awake with a ruptured liver, Mr. Nygma?” he asked, referencing the area in the abdomen Edward had sent the bullet. “Would you like him to have decayed organs? Infection still running through his blood? Brining a man back from the dead is a dirty job, Mr. Nygma. You are welcome to wait in the other room if this is too much for you to handle.”

Ed looked back and forth between Oswald’s cold, exposed body to Strange’s stern face. To his own surprise he said, “I think it would be best if I waited outside.”

“Very well,” replied Strange. “We will call you back in when the job is done. Depending on how much damage our friend has incurred, reanimation shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

Strange’s use of ‘our friend’ made Edward feel violated. His fists clenched, but he said nothing as he walked away.

Once he was back in the familiar, drab room that connected to the elevator, he began to pace. He was exhausted but his heart was pounding too wildly for him to sit still. There were so many horrifying and wonderful possibilities that lay ahead, and for the next few hours Ed had nothing to do but consider them all.

The first thing he would have to do is find away to keep Oswald safely out of Strange and Mooney’s reach. Now that he had a glimpse at the internal operation a man of Ed’s intellect could achieve this quite easily. As unpleasant as the duo was, they were essential to the task of bringing Oswald back to this world, but Ed held no deal with them beyond delivering the body. Even that detail was more beneficial to Ed than it was to the others. Thanks to Strange and whatever obsession the Court had with him, Edward would get a second chance. Without them…

There were other things to consider. First, a cover story. People would want to know where their mayor had disappeared to after his grand return. His first thought would be to blame Butch. He certainly wouldn’t be difficult to frame. The ape of a man had put a target on his own back when he had formed a fake Red Hood gang to get Oswald’s attention. After Ed exposed him publicly, anyone would believe any rumor they heard about Butch trying to harm Oswald again. That may be too obvious to someone like Gordan, though. Then again, no matter how obvious the lie, without evidence belief was superfluous. With Oswald alive, a little smoothing talk and few PR stunts would set everything back on track. Oswald would return to his rightful place as King of Gotham and Ed would be by his side. They would be partners.

Partners.

Ed licked his cracked lips futilely with his dry tongue. Their public relations would be easy to restore, but what would happen privately? Ed hadn’t navigated those waters before. His mind flashed to the cold, empty half of his bed at the mansion. He imagined a warm, smiling Oswald lying there. So grateful to be reunited. So glad to finally have his expressions of love reciprocated.

Love.

There was still the burning question in the back of his mind. Did he love Oswald? Was he ready to accept a relationship together as a real, influential part of his life? The thought was frightening but even so, he already knew the answer.

Ever since Ed had heard of the Penguin he had been inspired. The first time they met at the precinct, back when Oswald was a powerful stranger and Ed was still a nobody, it was like meeting a super hero. When Ed had begun to embrace his thrilling life as a murderer and criminal, Oswald had been the first person he told. They celebrated together. Shared a home. Even after he had been forgotten by the world in the hellish pit that was Indian Hill, Oswald still remembered him. Thanks to Oswald’s influence he had been released and allowed to stand as his number two in the city. No, not number two. Perhaps by title, but he understood now that Oswald had never seen it that way. They were equals. They shared everything: a home, meals, schemes, secrets. Once they were reunited once again, they would share even more.

True clarity hit Ed for the first time. He, without a doubt, was in love with Oswald Cobbelpot. And in a few hours, he would finally be able to tell him.

 

 

 

“You can come in, now.” It was Doctor Strange who beaconed Ed into the laboratory. “He’s about to wake up.” Rather than send an assistant, he had characteristically taken on the role of proud host. Ed was somewhat relieved to see Oswald covered in a medical gown and not naked on a slab like he had been before. There were tubes and wires connected to him everywhere, but at least he wasn’t exposed. Mooney wasn’t present. Another bit to be grateful for. Ed liked to think that without her medication, she was too weak to join the rest of the team for the miracle of science that was about to occur.

“Ready?” asked Strange. There was a hint of excitement beneath his usually expressionless voice. A switch was flipped. A jolt of electricity ran through Oswald’s body, visible as it caused the muscles it passed through to twitch. And then…

Oswald opened his eyes.

The man looked around, blinking in what must have felt like blinding light. His expression slowly morphed from confusion to fear as he became aware of his surroundings. People in masks. Machines. The crazy Doctor Strange. Then his eyes met Ed’s.

“Edward Nygma. It’s you!”

These were the words. The words Ed had been longing to hear for the hours he had sat in the cold, lonely room. Yes, the words were there, but the eyes. The eyes were all wrong.

Oswald’s stare burned into Ed’s soul. His jaw was clenched, teeth bared, and he was breathing heavily through his nose. “You!” he shouted again. He jerked his arms but his limbs and torso were restrained tightly against the surgical table. He fought them anyway.

“You! You monster! You cretin!”

Ed realized he was running. Out the door. Into the cold lab. Up through the elevator. Out into the dark alley where his car waited, still running. Ed had forgotten to turn off the ignition. He was amazed it was even still there. He jumped into the drivers seat and slammed the door shut like a child diving under his comforter to hide from the monsters in the dark. His hands hurt. He realized he was gripping the steering wheel with all of his strength. He didn’t let go. Instead, he sat in his car and gazed at the dashboard, panting, trying to catch his breath. It must have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that even all the way up here he could still hear Oswald screaming.

 _“Edward Nygma, I’ll kill you!_ ”


	7. Return

Once Ed could breathe again, his mind steadied. He was on his own with no company but the enemies hiding in the shadows. This situation was so comfortable to him it felt like home. He wasn’t sure what the time table was between coming back from the dead and getting a physician approved medical release but if Ed had to guess he would say he had, at worst, two days to put together a plan before Oswald was set free into the world. Plenty of time. He would go to the mansion, change, and pay some pawns a visit to get everything set as it should be. Edward Nygma would not be toppled by one unpleasant day.

And love. Why would a man desire love? It did nothing for a person but create easily targeted weaknesses. Ed had forgotten that lesson, but he would be sure to remember it from now on. Ignoring the cold feeling in his gut, Ed drove home.

The other thing that came into Ed’s awareness as he regained his calm was the stench that filled the car. He didn’t know how much of it was him and how much was from the back seat but he was definitely regretting not transporting Penguin in the trunk. Upon his return home, he found Olga cleaning in the front parlor. He approached her and hung the keys from his forefinger in front of her face.

“I picked up a stray and it shit in the back seat. Have someone take care of that. I’ll be using the second car tonight.”

Olga looked offended at Ed’s oder and appearance and her expression only worsened upon hearing his statement. Even so, she took the keys and tucked them into her apron pocket.  Once Ed had left the room, she mumbled something to herself in Russian.

“I know you speak English!” Ed’s voice echoed back to her from the hall. She scowled and went back to her work.

Upstairs, Ed locked the door to his suite and pulled the drapes shut over his window. Hadn’t he done that earlier today? Olga probably opened them when she had come to remake his bed. Having a maid could be such an annoyance. Ed then discarded his surely ruined suit into the hamper and walked into his private bathroom to shower. Three times he washed his hair and body and still he felt dirty. He could still feel the grit that covered his skin and the fetor of death and alley trash still hung over him. Ed washed a forth and a fifth time until his scalp felt raw and red, dry blotches began to appear on his body. Though still convinced he was not entirely clean, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. After carefully styling his hair and wiping down his glasses, Ed returned to the bedroom and retrieved a suit from the closet. Not just any suit, though. Tonight, Ed was wearing green.

 

 

 

The Siren’s was busy as always when Ed walked through the front door and into the gleaming club. Everything shined in tones of gold or silver, casting an inviting mix of color along slick black booths and tables where guests could sit and enjoy their drinks. A band was playing, a bit loudly for Ed’s taste, on the stage at the far end of the club in front of a floor to ceiling window. The club was on the highest floor of the building so one could look out this window and see the skyline of the entire city. Whether the act of seeing all of Gotham at once brought awe or disgust, the view from this hight made a person feel powerful.

Well-to-do’s laughed and drank and rubbed elbows with one another across the first floor and the balcony up above. All of them drifted repeatedly toward the centerpiece of the club, the high end bar illuminated with a bright white pillar that threw light on bottles and crystal glasses and made them sparkle. At this bar, enjoying the view of her small kingdom, was Barbara Kean. Ed made his way through the crowd of the well-dressed wealthy and slid up next to her, leaning against the bar but not sitting down. He didn’t need to announce himself. As soon as he got near, Barbara jumped out of her seat, nearly splashing her champagne on her satin peplum dress, and threw her arms around him.

“Eddie!” she cried loud enough to make sure everyone nearby heard her. When Ed did not reciprocate the hug she squeezed him a bit tighter.

“Hug me back, you moron. People are watching,” she hissed into his ear. Ed gave Barbara a small pat on her back and she released him from her perfumey clutches.

“Why don’t you follow me back to the VIP lounge? I have so much to tell you!” Making a grand gesture of it, she took Ed’s hand and led him through an upholstered door into a quiet area with dim lighting and a single round table in front of a curved booth. Tabitha, Barbara’s business partner and sometimes-lover, sat at the booth wearing a black corset style gown with the leather waistline synched tightly. To match, she wore leather gloves over her hands. One of those hands, Ed knew, was fake. It had been him that removed it after all. She did not look happy to see him. 

Once the door was shut, Barbara took Ed off guard and pushed him forcefully against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on, Nygma?”

“Excuse me?” Ed was more aggravated than startled at her forceful behavior.

“I got attacked by a man with eyes on his fingers today.” Barbara threw her crystal champagne glass at the wall and held her now empty hand in front of Ed’s face to emphasize her point. “Eyes. On his fingers. In my own home!”

Ed lightly placed his palm against Barbara’s extended fingers and lowered her hand away from him, simultaneously sidestepping out of his position between her and the wall. Tabitha stood.

“When I tried to follow you and get answers, some asshole threw this into one of my tires.” She held up a short, white blade with a design Ed couldn’t make out on the handle. “You hiring muscle now, Ed? Don’t trust us?”

Ed raised an eyebrow. “Are you expecting me to apologize that someone threw a knife at you while you were trying to hunt me down?” he asked.

“I thought I made the pecking order clear,” Barbara spat. “I rule Gotham. Me! If you think I’m going to let you get away with sicking some knife flinging lunatic on us—”

“I didn’t hire anyone,” Ed cut her off. “What makes you think I’d be behind any of this. I’ve been…preoccupied with my own work. I don’t have any desire to put my efforts into plots against you.”

“Because none of this happened until after your little threat on Friday. About Gotham coming to get me.”

“An accurate prediction of human behavior is hardly a threat.”

“You cocky mother—” Barbara turned toward Tabitha to grab the knife but Tabitha pulled it away before she could snatch it from her.

“Easy, kitty cat. We can’t kill him quite yet. Remember what we discussed?”

“Yes. Right.” Barbara turned back to face Ed, her expression returned to the beaming smile she had displayed on the club floor. “So if you didn’t send the creepy mutant man, where did he come from?”

“There was a mass of crazy mutant men that came out of Indian Hill,” Ed said. “Don’t you think it’s possible that one or two stayed hidden until now?”

“And the knife?” asked Tabitha, displaying it once more.

“I already told you I haven’t hired anyone,” Ed answered, but his throat caught when he looked at the knife again. He could see it more clearly this time. An ivory owl was perched on the tip of the handle. Ed made sure his surprise did not show on his face as he continued to address the women. “I came here for a reason. We have a problem.”

“We?” asked Barbara. “We’re a ‘we’ now?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Penguin is back.”

Barbara looked from Ed to Tabitha and back again. Laughter exploded from both of them.

“You’re kidding, right?” Barbara asked through giggles.

“I can’t tell you why or how, but he’s back. If I stay with you for a couple of days, we can work together to lure him into a trap that will turn the Penguin into our little canary. I have a plan.”

“Wait,” said Barbara slowly, a sly grin on her face. “You want to stay with us?”

“I don’t think ‘want’ is the proper term, but it would be in our best interest if we worked together privately. My coming and going from your home would attract attention.”

“He’s afraid to go back to the mansion,” Tabitha jeered, putting her arm around Barbara’s waste. “He’s worried the Big Bad Bird is coming for him.”

“I’m disappointed that you think so little of me,” Ed said, appearing unfazed. “Then again, thinking isn’t your strongest asset.”

“Eddy, the only reason you’re allowed at this club is for public face,” Barbara stated simply. “We don’t want you. We don’t need you. And even if we did, why on earth would we trust you to take down Penguin if you couldn’t even kill him properly the first time? You,” she bounced her finger off the end of his nose, “are just going to have to take care of this mess on your own. I have my own problems to deal with.” She eyed him up and down. “But I did notice that you dressed up in my favorite suit to come see me. You’re sweet. Bye now!” She giggled and waggled her fingers at him. It was clear that Ed was not going to get any further with the women tonight. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Tabitha was right. He was scared to go back to the mansion. Not just because Oswald would surely come there when he regained his freedom, but for all the other things Ed was worried were waiting to greet him. Those feelings held deep in his stomach that hung there like a weight…

“You’re right,” said Ed, determined to have the final word. “And I’m sure you both with be able to outsmart every man and woman in Gotham who will be coming for your head. Have fun with that, won’t you?”

Before either woman could reply, he exited to lounge. He allowed himself to linger in the club a bit longer, though, treating himself to a glass of champagne before leaving the establishment. He was in no rush and he wanted to make sure Barbara and Tabitha knew they couldn’t intimidate him. Mostly, though, he just didn’t want to return home. Finally, after a carefully calculated amount of time, Ed left.

 

 

 

 

For the second night in a row, Ed’s sleep was restless. He awoke multiple times throughout the night, heart racing from nightmares he couldn’t quite remember. After the third time, he trudged to the bathroom and drew himself a hot bath. He had no sleeping pills on hand but he hoped the comfort of the water would relax him enough to allow him rest. When the tub was full, he submerged himself as deeply as he could and let the heat encompass him. Slowly, he moved his hand beneath the surface of the water and listening to the sound of the small waves he created. After about an hour of this, his body began to relax and his head to droop. Deciding to finally try sleep once more, Ed reached for the plug. When he looked down into the tub, however, a familiar face with black hair and dead eyes looked back up at him. Ed cried out and leapt from the bath, slipping on the tile floor and slamming his upper arm painfully into the side of the sink as he tried to catch himself. Naked and dripping, he ran to his room, dove face down back into bed and covered his head with his pillow.

“You’re alive now,” he whimpered into the mattress. “Why are you still haunting me like this?” Ed felt a tear slide down the bridge of his nose and drip down onto the sheets. Ed curled up on his side beneath the blankets and pillows and allowed himself to cry quietly until, finally, his mind drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, he was in the same childish position, but he felt a dip at the edge of the mattress next to him as if something heavy had been placed there. Slowly coming out from his plush cocoon, Ed looked at the spot expecting to see a breakfast tray or some other intrusive item left behind by Olga. Instead, he was greeted by Oswald’s smiling face.

“Good morning, my dear friend. You look absolutely worn. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

Ed yelped and made to jump out of the bed. Then, remembering his state of undress, he merely shot to the other side of the mattress and gathered the covers around him. Oswald stood with a smile and put his hands in front of him as a gentle apology.

“Now now, no need to get up. I didn’t realize it had been such a late night for you. There are some matters for which I desire your aid but they can wait. It’s Sunday, after all. The day of rest! Take a few more hours to yourself.”

“Are…are you real?”

“Of course I am, you silly bug! Now, I’ll let you be. I took the liberty of closing your curtains. They were open all night but I didn’t want the sun to disturb you.”

Ed’s jaw hung open as he watched Oswald limp out of the room and wave before closing the door behind him.


	8. Reveal

What was happening? Ed walked slowly down the stairs in his pajamas, half expecting whatever or whoever had been at his bedside moments earlier to jump out of the walls and attack. Surely this wasn’t the same Oswald who was spitting and screaming and fighting against his restraints in Strange’s lab.

Oswald was sitting at the dining room table scribbling on a notepad as Olga gathered his breakfast dishes. The maid looked up when Ed entered the room, rolled her eyes, and picked up an empty tea cup. Oswald on the other hand seemed thrilled.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed. “Please, sit.” Oswald turned to Olga, seemed to contemplate something deeply, and then pointed at the plates she was holding. “More food please.” He emphasized his words as if saying them loudly and slowly enough would magically translate them into Russian. He mimed spooning food into his mouth for added effect. Keeping one eye on Oswald, Ed asked the Olga, “You can see him, right?”

“ _Zadrota_ ,” was her only reply. Ed took it to mean yes.

“I see you didn’t get dressed,” Oswald observed as Ed slowly lowered himself into a chair a few seats away. “That’s quite alright. You don't need a suit for your brain to work and we have nowhere to go today. Just busywork here. I’ve been gone a while so I’ll need you to catch me up on what I missed.”

Ed gave no reply. He just sat, dumbfounded, trying to make any sort of sense as to what was going on.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Oswald asked.

“I think I might be coming down with something.” Ed wasn’t completely lying.

“I do need your help with these papers, but please, don’t push yourself too hard. And as soon as we are finished it will be back to bed!”

Oswald slid some paperwork in front of Ed and continued without missing a beat.

“There are a few different requests for road repair. Has the budget changed much while I was away or am I ok to approve these?”

Strange must have gotten to him. Done something to his brain to make him compliant. The scientist was fantastic at psychological manipulation. Maybe he had put him in a trance somehow.

“The budget has room for the repairs. If you want to approve all of them, though, you’ll have to deny the education board’s request for extracurricular expansion.”

“Hmmm…perhaps I can find a way to balance the two. All the roads in this city are garbage anyway. Keeping a few that way won’t cause too much of a fuss, I’m sure.”

Ed mechanically answered Oswald’s benign questions while the active part of his mind analyzed his every move and word. Every pitch change in his voice. Every gesture and glance. Where was the tell? The subtle sign that this Oswald wasn't his Oswald? As hard as Ed looked, he could find nothing. By all outward appearances, this was the real, unadulterated Oswald Cobblepot. Ed felt dizzy.

“My, you seem to be getting worse. Maybe you should go back up to bed. From what I understand, you had quite a bit of prolonged contact with my corpse. There is a lot of bacteria in a dead body. You should relax. I can finish this on my own. I’ll have Olga draw you a bath.”

“No bath,” Ed replied a bit too quickly. “But, yes, I do think some rest would do me good. I’ll be upstairs, then.”

“Good choice. I’ll send you breakfast up to you.”

Ed backed slowly away from the table toward the staircase. Oswald was too caught up in his own work to notice. When he reached the base of the steps, he felt confident enough in his safety to turn his back on the alien being in the dining room. Climbing the stairs at twice his normal speed, he reached his room, closed the door, and locked it from the inside. He stood frozen inside his room, his hand on the doorknob, his head resting against the smooth wood of the door. What was happening? He was dreaming. Or drugged. Hallucinating. Maybe Barbara had hired Basil Karlo. Ed had worked with him to help take down Oswald. The man could transform his face and his voice to impersonate anyone. But, no. There was no faking the genuine, lightheartedness that embodied Oswald’s being. It was a purity he rarely displayed, and only in front of his most trusted. Ed was one of the only people to ever witness it in person. Thinking of this caused his heart to flutter for just a moment before it was forced to drop heavily back into reality. Something was obviously off, he just couldn’t place the source or the reason. It would take some time, but he would figure it out. He was Edward Nygma after all. His genius was unparalleled.

“Unless it involves reading,” said Ed’s own voice from behind him. The real Ed squeezed the doorknob harder and refused to turn around.

“Please leave me alone,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“If you break me I do not stop working. If you touch me I may be snared. If you lose me nothing will matter, and you’ve definitely lost yours. What am I?”

“Hope,” Ed replied to himself, though he regretted the word as soon as he said it. There was still hope. Ed was not yet defeated. There was a way to get on top of any situation. Think. He just had to think. His mind was so tired.

“Maybe you’re tired because it’s so bright in here all the time,” the hallucination pressed on.

“What?”

“A golden treasure that never stays; The coin whose face gives wealth to all.”

 _“The sun,”_ Ed thought, then glanced to the side. There was sunlight flooded in through the window. The drapes were open. The bed was still a tossed pile of blankets and pillows so Olga had not come though yet. Ed turned around and looked around the room.

"Who's here?" he asked aloud. There was no reply. Not even Ed's hallucination was present anymore.

"I know you’re watching," he said, his volume raising. "I know you can hear me. Who is here?” Still nothing.

"You think I'm not on to you?" he asked, nearly shouting now. "Your signature is pretty obvious. An open window? Want to remind me that you're watching? Here. Watch as much as you want!"

He stormed to the window and yanked on the open drapes. It took a couple hard pulls, but eventually they came crashing down to the floor. Almost immediately after, there was a knock at the door.

"Ed?" came Oswald's voice from outside the room. The door handle jiggled and he knocked again. "Ed? Are you ok? Please open the door. Is everything alright? I heard a crash. Ed?"

Ed looked at the crumpled pile of fabric. What was wrong with him? This was not who he was. He was a man if intellect. Calculated. Calm. He didn't yell at windows. Ed squeezed his eyes shut. He felt like he was losing his mind.

"Ed?" The knocking came again. Ed went to the door, unlocked it, and whipped it open.

"Yes, Oswald. I'm fine."

Oswald looked taken aback and a bit intimidated at Ed's abruptness. With a sheepish smile, he offered forward the breakfast tray he held in his hands. Upon it was displayed a cup of tea and two pieces of toast.

"I wasn't sure how your stomach was feeling so I thought maybe a small breakfast would be appropriate. I can certainly make something more hearty if you like."

Ed eyed the tray but did not take it. Oswald craned forward and peered into the room.

“Ed, your curtains…”

“I tripped.” The excuse was feeble but it had to be made up on the spot.

“Oh…well…we must get that fixed.” Oswald looked down at his the tray as if he had forgotten it was there. He offered it forward again. “Your breakfast?”

It was clear that he wasn’t going to leave until Ed accepted the meal. Resigning, Ed lifted the tray from Oswald’s hands and backed into the room to close the door with his foot. Unfortunately, Oswald took the sidestep as an invitation and walked inside. He glanced around the room awkwardly as if he felt like a stranger in this corner of his house that was Ed’s private space.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” he said as Ed set the tray on his bed which was still wet with bath water from the previous evening.

“You’re…proud?” Even from this wrong Oswald, the praise made something inside Ed light up. His Oswald had been a mentor. An inspiration. Ed had worked every day to make his Oswald proud. If only this was his Oswald.

“The clue I left you,” Oz explained. “I thought it might be too obscure or that maybe you wouldn’t find me, but you did. I apologize for every doubting your genius. You really are the world’s greatest detective, aren’t you? I had hoped you would have found me sooner, though. You know, before I died.” The glowing warmth the compliment was gone. Oswald eyed Ed, waiting for a reaction or response and jumped when Ed stormed angrily toward him. The force and speed of Ed's movement caused him to unconsciously back out of the door and into the hall.

“Thank you for breakfast. I need some time alone.” With this, Ed swung the door shut and locked it again. Wearily, he walked to his bed and sat down. The little teacup jiggled on it’s saucer and Ed put his elbows on his knees, burying his head in his hands. He had wanted Oswald dead so badly, and once it had happened he found his life and his mind in a state of ruin. He had thought everything would be better once Oswald was back but somehow it was all so much worse now. But was he truly back? Whatever it was wearing Oswald’s face, whatever had come back from the dead in his body, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his Oswald. His Oswald was at the bottom of the river along with every beautiful chance they would have had for a happy future together.

Ed couldn’t take it anymore. He was done. Done. No more playing these stupid games. No more trying to untie this impossible knot. It was time to take the sword and cut the rope completely.

Ed didn’t have any luggage in his room so he took the blanket from his bed and laid it on the floor. He started filling the center with just enough to last him a week until he could find a place to start over. Once he was packed, he would take as much of the funds from the treasury as he could and vanish. He didn’t need Gotham. He didn’t need Oswald. He didn’t need this insane cycle of darkness. There was a fresh start waiting for him somewhere. He would just have to find it.

But the opportunity was stolen as a shadow fell across the floor. With a sigh, Ed looked up at the man who now stood on in his window frame. The stranger was clad in black from head to toe and wore a hood that covered his face entirely. Even his eyes were hidden from view behind small, dark lensed goggles. In addition to two large swords the man carried on his back, he had a bandolier that held at least a dozen knives to his chest. They were all small, white, and had the same intricate carving at the tip of their handles. No guns, though, Edward noted, unless they were hidden somewhere under his cloak. It was possible. Ed would keep it guard up. He stood next to his half prepared bundle of clothes and toiletries as the man opened the window and stepped into the room.

“So you heard me after all?” Ed asked.

“I’ve heard everything,” the man replied, slowly stepping closer. “I’ve seen everything.”

“I’m aware.” Ed nodded toward the drapes. “You’re not exactly subtle. Is there something you need from me? I thought I was done being the Court’s errand boy when I brought you your pet penguin.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Do I need to?”

“Most people are frightened when they meet a Talon.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

There was a moment of silence. Underneath all the spandex and cloth, Ed couldn’t tell if the intruder was taken off guard by his indifference or angered by it.

“You’re thinking of running,” said the intruder.

“Observant. I take you don’t approve.”

“It is not my decision to make.”

The man handed Ed a cellphone. Ed eyed it for a moment before taking it and putting it up to his ear.

“Hello, Edward Nygma,” came a woman’s voice.

“Who is this?”

“Someone who has been keeping very close tabs on you these last few days. I do so appreciate your help, even if you were recruited through…unconventional means.”

It was obviously the leader of the Court of Owls, or at the very least a high ranking member. A call from her was likely not something that many people received, so why him? The old poem ran through his head.

_Beware The Court of Owls that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime…_

“What do you want from me?” Ed asked. “Why do I matter? Why does Oswald matter? What could we possibly mean to you?”

“Normally nothing,” the woman replied, “but right now you mean quite a bit. Or, Oswald does at least. You are far less essential to our plans. The Court controls every piece of Gotham and fits them together like a puzzle. Every leadership role must be accounted for. The Whisper Gang heads smuggling in and out of Gotham’s rail system. Hugo Strange fronts our scientific research. The Ghost Dragons control the drug trafficking to keep the public appeased. Each family of wealth, the families of influence, are either members of or protected by the Court.”

“The heads of most of those families are dead now. Was that a part of your plan, too?”

“Unfortunately no, but we have recovered from bigger setbacks than this. We will deal with the wild card Barbara Kean in our own way. In the mean time, we need to make sure that the pieces we have in play stay in their proper place. That includes the mayor.”

That would explain Oswald’s behavior. If he knew about the current gravity of his position…

As if reading his mind, the woman went on.

“The Penguin does not know of any of this, and he will continue not to know. By all intents, you shouldn’t be privy to this information either. None of our pawns should. However, since Strange and his counterpart introduced you to our little secret I had no choice but to contact you directly. Make sure all the loose ends are tied up.”

Ed gritted his teeth. The arrogance of this woman was infuriating.

“I am not a piece to be controlled by your games,” Ed growled into the phone.

“Oh, Edward, don’t be so childish. Everything you’ve become is because of us, and we could take it all away in an instant.”

“Is that a threat to make me stay in Gotham?”

“It is a threat to make you keep your lips sealed. Now that you have returned Oswald to his place your task is complete. You’re worth nothing to us. If you wish to leave you may leave, but know that we have eyes everywhere, and they are not so courteous as to leave signs of their presence. Did you know you are the only person outside the court to see a Talon and live?”

Ed flashed a glance at the masked man. He only had one more question.

“Did Strange do something to Oswald?”

“You know all you need to know. Now I suggest that you forget it all immediately.”

The line went quiet. Slowly, Ed handed back the phone. The Talon pocketed it and turned.

“Power doesn’t last forever,” Ed said to the man’s back. A sad attempt at a show of strength. The man gave a condescending glance over his shoulder.

“Heh.”

He leapt from the window ledge and was gone.


	9. Complete

Ed stood rooted in place staring at the spot where the man had left. The cool autumn breeze that came in through the open window sent a chill across Ed’s skin. Outside, tree branches waved lazily. Sun filled the room.

Not quite leaving his trancelike state, Ed’s head rolled slightly to the side and he gazed down at the neatly collected pile of run-away supplies at his feet. He was ready to go if he wanted. He was allowed to go if he wanted.

What was it that he really wanted?

Ed didn’t know. He didn’t like not knowing.

After a few more moment’s of consideration, he decided to walk the middle ground. For now, he would go downstairs and play along with not-Oswald until he could get his head in a steady enough place to make a balanced choice. He would keep this bundle ready so that he could leave immediately if the need arose. It wasn’t exactly a plan, but it would do for now.

Ed extracted this toiletries and folded the the blanket carefully around the rest of his things, creating a tidy little bundle of fabric with two corners tied on top to act as a handle. He hid the bundle under his bed and went to the bathroom to shower.

Only a few suits remained in his wardrobe. Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw the green suit he had worn the day before draped over the chair. He had only worn it for a few hours and since he had laid it so neatly on the chair there were no wrinkles. He considered it. For some reason the color made him feel more self assured. He could certainly use some extra strength right now. Ed slipped into the green suit, checked himself once in the mirror, and left his room.

Oswald was not in the dining room. The library and the study were similarly empty. It wasn't until Ed wandered into the sitting room that he found Oswald sitting in a large, plush chair by the fireplace. He was staring into the flames in deep contemplation with his chin resting heavily on one hand. He absentmindedly scratched lightly at his knee in an almost anxious way. When Ed realized Oswald didn’t know he was there, he gave a loud cough to announce his presence and Oswald jumped, looking up at Ed as if he was staring at a ghost. His surprise faded quickly away, though, exchanging itself for an inviting smile.

"It looks like you're feeling better," Oswald said and then gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Please, sit. How did you enjoy your tea?"

"I didn't drink it," Ed said as he took his place on the opposite side of the hearth. Oswald looked disappointed. Then he did a double take and looked Ed up and down.

"What are you wearing?" he asked with a tone Edward couldn't read. He looked down at his suit.

"I've been told this color makes me look like a man of power," Ed said defensively.

"It certainly does make a statement," Oswald said and looked back at the flames. Ed raised an eyebrow, confused by Oswald's distaste. He had seen him wear this suit before. Why then…?

Ed's chest tightened as he realized his mistake. Oswald _had_ seen this suit before. In fact, it was the last thing he had seen Ed wear before Ed had put a bullet in his gut. How could he possibly have forgotten? He thought about to rushing back upstairs to change but Oswald began to speak before he had the chance to stand.

"This is where my father died, you know," he said abruptly.

"Oh..." Ed had no idea how to reply.

"'You are loved and you are not alone and the sun will come up tomorrow'. Those were the last words he said to me. Then we toasted and he died." He looked at Ed. "I was just thinking about his words and about how I felt on the pier and then again when I was fading away in the alley. I knew I was going to die and that I wouldn't ever see the sun rise again. Both times I was alone and nobody loved me. The world was the exact opposite of everything my father thought it was. But I also thought, maybe it's ok. Maybe, if this is the way the world really is, then it's best to leave it and be at peace with my father. His body isn’t in piece, of course. That’s in a landfill somewhere. But I'm sure his spirit is happy. My single fear was that I had too many sins on my shoulders for my spirit to join him. He was a good man."

There was a long silence. Ed fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Oswald," he said slowly. "I was wondering if I could ask you some questions."

"By all means."

"I was just wondering...what you remember."

"About when you killed me or when I woke up?" The nonchalance in Oswald's voice was more unsettling to Edward than the words themselves.

"When you were brought back."

"Let's see..." Oswald leaned back in his chair, pondering deeply. "I remember seeing Hugo Strange first. A terrifying feeling, I'll have you know. I don't have a very good history with that man."

"I would imagine not," Ed replied awkwardly.

"Then I saw you. Oh, I do apologize for scaring you off the way I did. I hope you can excuse my less than dignified behavior. It's difficult to think straight after coming back from the dead. And you ran so fast. I'm honestly impressed. I never took you for a sprinter."

"And after that?”

"Dr. Strange explained to me that you had sought him out to save me. He did some tests to make sure I was ok and then let me go. Well, 'let me go' is perhaps the wrong phrase. 'Had his cronies put a bag over my head and deliver me to the mansion' would be a more accurate description. It was all a little disorienting but it did feel good to be home again."

"Did Strange say anything else?"

"No. Only that it was you who saved me. I will admit that I was quite cross with you when I initially woke up but it seems that you came around in the end so it's all better now."

Ed couldn't help but feel all of his evil deeds being laid out before him. Despite Oswald's reassurance, self loathing began to weigh on him like lead and he wondered if Oswald had truly forgiven everything as quickly as he claimed. Oswald had mentioned Strange did tests. Perhaps that was how he could talk about the events of the past so calmly. Was it possible to remove someones emotions? Ed looked away from Oswald as the thought crossed his mind.

It was definitely time to run. Ed had confirmed that Oswald didn't know about the Court, but he didn't need to. They would protect him regardless. He was valuable to them. Ed, on the other hand, couldn't bear to spend another moment with this Oswald. He wanted his Oswald. He wanted the Oswald who would rushed to embrace him. Who had made him tea for his sore throat. Who, more than anything, wanted to be loved and give love. That was the Oswald he remembered. Living with this knock off brand of the man he loved was worse than being alone. Ed had to leave.

He stood quickly, but Oswald followed suit.

"I have an idea!" Oswald exclaimed, again cutting off Ed's escape. "Let's go for a drive. We still haven't done any catching up and this house feels so stuffy. Come."

He took Ed's hand and lead him to the front door. Ed felt sick.

As the driver took them down into the city, Oswald chatted on in the worst possible way. With a juxtaposed cheeriness he described the cold nights on the streets, the pain of the infection as it grew, and the shame he felt living among the gutter trash of Gotham. Ed didn't say a word. He pretended to listen but his internal dialog fear and guilt was louder than anything Oz was saying. It was so distracting, in fact, that Ed didn't even notice when the car began to drive into the abandoned, dilapidated part of the city. It wasn't until the car came to a stop in an empty parking garage that Ed realized something was terribly wrong.

"Oswald, where are we?"

Oswald replied with a satisfied smile. Then, Ed's car door was yanked open and a large man with tattoos on his neck grabbed a thick handful of Ed's hair and dragged him from the vehicle. Ed cried out and fought to free himself as the man pulled Ed across the garage floor to a chair placed at the base of the ramp to the next level. Suddenly there were two more men tying his legs and torso to the chair while the first man held him firmly in place. The pressure of the ropes caused his bones to ache and his torso was bound so tightly he could barely breathe. His upper arms were tied to the back of the chair as well, but his hands were left free.

"Oswald, what’s happening?”

Oswald tottered over, grinning as he appraised the work of the three men who now stood behind Ed’s chair.

"Why the long face?" Oswald asked innocently. "You love mind games! Honestly, I expected you to see right through me. I thought you'd figured me out when you didn't drink the tea I drugged for you, but apparently I'm a better actor than I thought.”

The three men chuckled. Ed stared in horror.

"What are you going to do to me?"

“I'm not going to do anything. I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine, but I'm not nearly as cold hearted as you. So instead of just killing you outright, I'll let you decide your own fate. It's much more fun that way."

Oswald revealed a small grenade that he had been hiding behind his back. Walking over to Ed, he pulled the pin and placed the explosive carefully in Ed's unbound hands.

"Careful now. If you loosen your grip that last safety will fall out and," he threw his hands in the air, “BOOM!" He began to laugh and his henchmen joined in.

Ed gripped the grenade as tightly as he could. his knuckles white and his arms shaking. Oswald and the three strangers walked up the car ramp far enough that they were out of the blast area but still close enough that Oswald could see Ed clearly.

"Oswald, why are you doing this?" Ed asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Why?" Oswald asked. He make a noise that sounded like a mix between a cough and a laugh. "Do you really have to ask? You took everything from me. You tried to kill me!"

"But...but the clue."

"I left that so you would find me and I could take you here. I had this whole thing planned out from the very moment I crawled out of that cursed river."

"And when days passed? When you got sick?"

"What I told you back at the mansion wasn't a lie. By the time I knew it was all going to end I was more than ready to die. I didn’t think I’d ever get my revenge. But lucky me, you brought me back! Now, let's play our game, Nygma."

Ed looked down at the grenade. His hands were growing slippery with sweat. He gripped the explosive harder.

"You have two options,” Oswald said. “You can give up everything and leave Gotham forever with nothing but that disgusting green suit on your back, or you can drop the grenade and end it all. Either way you're out of my life for good so I win. What will you decide?"

Ed's thoughts flitted back to the tidy bundle under his bed at home. He should have left when he had the chance. He should have, but...

What would leaving really do? He could run as far as he wanted but nothing would take back what he did. What he'd lost. What he's destroyed. He'd become a monster. Not a villain or an evil mastermind, but a thoughtless, depraved killer. There was no running from that.

“The clock is ticking, Ed. Better hurry up before I get bored and make one of these three decide your fate for you.”

Ed’s heart was hammering in his chest and the world around him became fuzzy. With determined finality, he opened his hands. The grenade fell through the air, landed on ground with an echoing clank, and rolled beneath the chair. Ed closed his eyes tight and waited. He waited longer. Nothing happened.

“You…you dropped it,” said a dumbfounded Oswald from above. Ed opened his eyes slowly.

“It didn’t go off,” said Ed with an equal level of shock. “It was a dummy?”

“Of course it was a dummy!” Oswald rushed to where Ed sat and picked up the grenade off the ground. “You were supposed to leave,” he said, shaking the empty weapon in Ed’s face. “You were supposed choose to run away. Why would you drop it?” Oswald’s voice was shaking. Tears threatened to stream down from his eyes.

“Why did you give me a fake grenade?” asked Ed, staring in bewilderment at the hysterical Oswald.

“Because I love you, you piece of trash,” Oswald spat, throwing the fake grenade across the empty garage. “Because I would never hurt you. Because even after all of this I still care. I had hoped against hope that you would come to your senses when you found out I was alive, but you didn’t. I don’t know how much Strange paid you, but you ripped me from a peaceful sleep back into a world where I meant nothing to you. You brought me to him and then you left. I finally had to accept that I mean nothing to you.”

“Oswa—”

“And now, every time I see your face it’s like getting shot over and over again. I can tell how much you still hate me. You run every time I get close.”

“Os—”

“Why, Ed? Why did you drop the grenade? Why would you choose that?”

“Oswald, because I love you too!” The words came out much louder than Ed had intended, but finally saying them felt so right. Oswald stood completely still, staring wide-eyed at Ed with his mouth slightly agape.

“What did you just say?” he stammered. Ed looked sincerely up at him.

“I love—”

His words were cut short by Oswald’s lips crashing against his. Oswald kissed him with a mad ferocity, pressed so tightly against each other that their teeth occasionally clacked together, but neither of them cared. After a moment, Ed pulled back just slightly.

“Oswald, the ropes.”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Oswald turned toward the three men lurking in the background. Each of them looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “Cut him free!” One of the men approached with a large knife and sliced thought the ropes as quickly as he could. Once free, Ed stood and wrapped his arms around the smaller man tightly, practically lifting him off the floor as he drew Oswald in as close as he could. Their lips met again just as passionately as before as if making up for lost time. Fingers tangled themselves in hair and brushed softly against cheeks. Finally, the two faces parted, arms still holding each other close, and smiled at one another.

“I missed you,” Ed said. Oswald’s face was streaked with happy tears.

“I missed you, too,” Oswald choked through a sob of joy.

For the first time since he could remember, Ed felt truly whole. Finally, everything fit. This was his Oswald, and he was his Edward, and together they could do anything. The Court, Strange, the war for power in Gotham…none of that mattered. In that moment, Ed knew that whatever was to come next, he could conquer it, and he would do so with Oswald at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One little head cannon that I wasn't able to work into the story: Oswald loves Stephen King and has read The Shining multiple times. His mother didn't want him reading scary books as a child so during his rebellious teenage years he would sneak them into his room and hide them under his mattress. He describes this time of his life as him being "quite the little scoundrel".
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the fic! I look forward to seeing what the Gotham writers actually have in store for my favorite evil pair.


End file.
